


All you need is love

by SkeletonBird



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Angst, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Demon Aziraphale (Good Omens), Fallen Angel Aziraphale (Good Omens), Heaven is Terrible (Good Omens), Hell is Terrible (Good Omens), Hurt, Injury, M/M, Mild Gore, One Shot, Religious Conflict, and description of those injuries, might add more later - Freeform, not much comfort, theres a bit at the end though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-15 14:55:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29560815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkeletonBird/pseuds/SkeletonBird
Summary: An angel makes a decision.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 15





	All you need is love

Standing among the clouds, the earth falls away. A sheet of white and grey obscures it from view as if it were never there at all. The sun blinds, it’s rays striking against sensitive eyes until there are dark spots against the blue. They are not real, though, not really. Although some might protest that the happenings of the brain and the body are reality to the person it’s happening to. Those spots the angel sees are only phantoms, after-images one gets after staring at something bright for too long. The wings that spread out of the angels back are like the sun in this way. They shine brighter than the clouds backdropped against them with an aura of other-worldliness that little ever notice. 

This will soon change, as the angel does not plan to stay in this place. It is where he finds his power, yes, but not love. The others that dwell in this realm do not like him, that is for certain. This is shown in their threats hidden by waxy smiles, and the way their wings fold against their backs as if the angel’s very presence will infect them. Too long on earth, they say, ===’s becoming native. Too bad, they say, === was one of the good ones. 

The angel has a name, he is sure of the fact, but it is gone from his memory. The other’s words are obscured by unrelenting static, blocking the God-given name from him as he rejects it. It is with great sadness that he walks to the edge of those magnificent clouds. For years and years, before time, even, this place has been his home. And, although he has his reasons, good ones at that, the angel’s very being screams at him to get away from the edge. To go join his peers with their false happiness and bask in the love of God. 

This is not an option, however, because the other angels do not welcome him, and God no longer loves him. His wings are darkened with ash and his halo is dimmed by sin; the Fall is inevitable either way. The angel just needs to take this step, a final leap off of the heavens and into relative freedom. He thinks of his beloved, down there amongst the humans and other beings of earth, oblivious to the angel’s plan. He would hate this, and he may end up hating the angel for doing it. But there isn’t much of a choice, is there?

His next step is angry and measured, and then he is at the edge. Below, there is water, whisping with blood and gore from those that Fell before him. It should be too far away to see, as the drop from Heaven is a long one, but apparently, God wants the angel to look upon what his life will become. The murky depths of that sulfur lake calls to him, whispering their messy and tangled promises. In them, the angel hears his love’s voice, although he knows it is not really _him_. Crowley calls out, pleas for the angel to join him in the hell Heaven created for them. It is a safe place, Crowley promises, they could be together here. 

It isn’t real, and the angel knows that his demon would protest the very idea of what he was doing. Crowley wouldn’t encourage it, and the angel understood that. The demon had already gone through the horror of Falling, and he wouldn’t want that for ===. His Fall will be visible, and his love will likely see the blazing ball of hellfire falling from the sky from wherever he is on earth. The angel can only hope that Crowley will forgive him someday.

Weightlessness is kind to him for a second. It’s a bit like taking a dive, just a regular decent in a regular flight. The angel almost welcomes it, but then the pain hits. Fire licks at the tips of his wings, catching the feathers and blackening them fully. It spreads, despite the wind billowing around the angel. He feels his lungs tightening around a scream that is lost to all but God, swallowed by the wind. Her disappointment is a physical presence, and the not-angel cries as his life went up in flames. 

The clouds are grey from below, dark and filled with rain that threatens to fall. This only proves Heaven’s deceit. They may make everything look all nice and clean, but they are no better than Hell. The lies and deception are different, yes, and one is blatantly evil, but Heaven is not much different. Their hatefulness is clouded by self-doubt and their hateful power is covered by _mircles_ and _the love of God_. What they don’t say is that Her love wraps around those angels like chains, directing their movements without rhyme or reason. The not-angel does not like this. He _renounces_ that God, and his wings burn.

The halo rains in molten gold around his shoulders, turning to ash once it had sunken fully into his body. The fire evaporates his tears before they can reach his cheeks, drying his eyes into holes of ungodliness. He has seen Crowley’s eyes and had expected the change along with everything else, but he hadn’t prepared himself for it. It was foolish, of course, but he had thought that knowing the process would somehow help with the pain. It most certainly did not.

Water, flowing and ever-changing as it is, feels like concrete when one hits it at a high velocity. Every bone in the demon’s body breaks on impact, but they do not lose consciousness. Usually, this kind of pain came with discorporation, but there was no end in sight for him. The water squirmed through his ears and nose, flowing down his throat and into his very being. It mended those bones and allowed for a new form to take shape within the new demon. He knew of his alternate, as everyone was informed of their’s upon birth, but he had never felt the weight of it before.

Lots of different Latin names ran through his head. _Panthera, Leopardus, Felis, Lynx._ Basically, it boiled down to _cat_. The demon isn’t sure why it surprises him that he has several different forms; he’s seen the many different snakes Crowley turns into at random. Perhaps it was a welcome distraction from the fact that his body and soul was burning away, purging the holy parts of himself and grinding them down to dust.

Bubbles do not float up as he breaths out his last bit of oxygen, and he does not worry about drowning. This lake is supposed to break his Fall, keeping him alive until Hell digs its rusty claws into him. It does not provide comfort, however. The water boils around him, digging roughly into the exposed bones of his wings and irritating the already burned skin and feathers. Those mocking voices are louder now, pronouncing about how idiotic he was, how easily he’d fallen into their trap. But it wasn’t a trap, the demon thought; I wanted to be here. Why did I want to be here?

A face floats to the front of his vision, obscured by red hair and black-out glasses. The demon reaches out, wanting to hold someone of comfort in this time of other-world pain that never stopped. The person in front of him only laughed, and the demon closed his eyes in defeat. Why would Crowley want to hold him now after he had done something so horrible to betray his trust? The voices mocked him as he wept to himself. 

Something grips his outstretched hand, and the demon recoils. The hand, covered in black scales, does not relent. Its claws dig into his palms and the back of his hand, holding fast against the demon’s mute protests. He is pulled out of the water by that unrelenting force, and one of the voices gets louder. They are shouting in the midst of static, so the demon assumes the person is trying to say their old name. He rises upwards with them if only to tell them to stop yelling in that distorted voice that does not sound right. 

His face breaks the surface, and the demon is very suddenly aware of his surroundings. He is in Hell for the first time, tasting that polluted air and seeing those red clouds with his own eyes and mouth. The supposed oxygen flows in and out of his mortal form, creating blocks and buildups. The demon coughs, hacking and wishing for it to end. The rest of his body is pulled from the lake and onto a shore of glass and stone. 

He expects the blinding pain of sharp objects digging into his wings, but it does not come. They are held up by overwhelmingly soft hands, keeping them away from the ground. His back is pressed against the person’s legs, and he takes a moment to worry for their health. Are they sitting on something, or are they enduring the cutting glass to keep the hurt from the new demon? This does not make much sense because he has heard about what the other demons are like from Crowley, and he’s seen a bit of it himself. Who would be helping him, if not his beloved?

The demon opens his eyes, unsure of when he had closed them. The face above him is upside down, and he finds himself staring at their chin. But it’s a chin he recognises, and he nearly cries with relief. He does cry, actually. Hot, melting tears drip down his face, lava-like that of the lake.

Arms fold around his middle, hands wandering around as if checking for injuries. The new demon's entire being is made up of injuries and hurts, but he doesn’t think his Crowley would appreciate hearing that. He does not move, and he does not speak, although he wants to do so dearly. His bones are melded together by an invisible force, and every circumstantial movement sends fire through his limbs. His lungs are cracked and dry inside his chest, and speaking would only flood his throat with blood. 

Instead, he focuses on Crowley’s words, hearing his whispered apologies and frantic questions. He wants to know which angel had pushed him off of Heaven’s clouds, and whose head he needs to remove. The demon dreads the moment that he’ll have to tell this person what really happened. He couldn’t afford to lie, as it would send Crowley on a warpath. The only way out of this was the truth, and the demon was not looking forward to it. 

As it turns out, he didn’t need to because he quickly found himself leaving the realm of consciousness. Crowley was holding his face, asking him not to go to sleep, to stay awake for a bit longer, but the demon could not. He was so, very tired, and sleep sounded like the nicest reprieve. So, his eyes drifted closed, and he grew boneless as tears of fire burned down his face.


End file.
